


You Russian Angel!

by TheMarchBunnyMadness



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Heavily Implied Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, SO FLUFFY, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Worry, brain damage?, hinted - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarchBunnyMadness/pseuds/TheMarchBunnyMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torture is bad and all, but Illya can't help but think that maybe Napoleon is just too happy to see him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Russian Angel!

 

"I think we'll start with..." Rudi trailed off, his eyes staring at invisible possibilities in front of him; no doubt repeating the sadistic scenes he had once witnessed in his head and grinning at the thought of recreating them with the handsome american tied to the electric chair. "...with the pliers."

Napoleon, however, didn't seem to much care for Rudi...at least, not anymore. With his head strapped back against the chair, all he was focused on was the tall figure that stood behind Rudi. "I never thought I'd say this..." dryly sighed Napoleon, briefly looking away from the lugging shadow. "But I'm actually quite pleased to see you..."

Rudi frowned, slowly, realizing that Napoleon was looking behind his shoulder. He turned sharply, seeing Illya Kuryakin stood, arms folded, behind him. "You doing okay, cowboy?" Illya's voice growled, as he glared at Rudi. And then, with one swift punch to the head, Rudi fumbled off his chair; smacking into hard floor, instantly smashed into unconsciousness. To be fair, he had no chance, compared to the Goliath that stood against him.

"Good God," wheezed Napoleon, finally relaxing somewhat. "Illya, you Russian angel!"

" _Calm down_ ," grumbled Illya, stepping over the weak body before him and stomping over to the american spy. "What'd they do to you?"

Napoleon let out a oddly casual shrug. "Ah, electrocution mainly...also, Rudi showed me his photo album of torture;  _shocking_  stuff."

Illya paused from previously unshackling the first restraint, and frowned at Napoleon; who was now lazily looking over at a large book at Rudi's desk (likely the photo album he'd mentioned). "You alright, cowboy? Has the electricity gone to your brain?"

Napoleon shook his head, pressing his lips tightly together, attempting to express confidence. " _Certainly_..."

Despite being unsatisfied with the answer, Illya continued. "...did they do anything else?" He'd untied the first restraint at Napoleon's right wrist, moving on to the left.

"No, didn't have time," mumbled Napoleon. "...lucky us, right?"

Illya, not stopping to frown at the other spy, repeated, " _Us?_ "

"Well," continued Napoleon. "Without me, what would you do?"

"Find the disc myself," offered Illya.

Napoleon shook his head. " _No_...probably not." Napoleon paused, seeming to become entranced with the left restraint being removed from his wrist. "...maybe Sanders will let you stay in Rome a while longer after my inevitable death?"

This was when Illya had stopped again, after unfastened Napoleon's right ankle. "Inevitable?"

"Oh, I meant..." corrected Napoleon, wafting his hand. "In this hypothetical version of events...if you hadn't found me..." Napoleon paused a moment, then mumbled, "I'm sure you and Gabby would've had a blast-"

"If she hadn't  _betrayed_  us," grumbled Illya. Napoleon noted the fact he didn't deny that he would've sailed off with Gabby given the chance...

To be fair, from what Napoleon's still foggy brain could process, Gabby was a pretty amazing woman; exceptionally tough and feisty. Not to mention, rather beautiful. If not for her treachery, she would've been best suited for Illya. A match made in heaven, as it were.

Yes, definitely not a well groomed American gentleman. Shame, really...

To be fair, if things had been more compatible, it was unlikely Illya would've swooned for Solo...especially after Napoleon's little ' _meeting_ ' with Victoria.

"Well, lucky that I'm alive," offered Napoleon. "Or it would've been more than embarrassing for you; a nice looking young man wandering around Rome with a heavy heart..." Napoleon abruptly paused, before adding, "Oh, Illya, it brings tears to my eyes."

Illya frowned at Napoleon, having un-restrained Napoleon's limbs a while back now. He got to his feet, still frowning at the American spy. " _Nice looking_ ," he repeated.

"I only speak fact," grinned Napoleon.

Illya's frown deepened. "Yes...the electricity has definitely gone to your head, cowboy." He heaved his hands forward, yanking free the restraint around Napoleon's head. 

The excitement of freedom seemed to overwhelm Solo, as he instantly forced himself to his feet; managing too stand upright, only to slowly tilt forward before clumsily landing against Illya. "Dammit," grumbled Napoleon, as he awkwardly bounced off Illya, who had raised his hands instinctively to catch the American.

"Maybe you should sit back down..." mumbled Illya, gently trying to push Napoleon back into the chair.

"So Gabby's uncle can off me?" practically yelped Napoleon, staring straight at Illya. "No thank you."

"Your clearly messed up from it," Illya stated.

 _Sais you_ , thought Napoleon, though he managed to restrain himself from blurting that out.

Though, Kuryakin was right. For just as Napoleon's thoughts had come back together, they seemed to unravel some more; leaving an ache in his head and a mash up of thoughts. And then, it suddenly seemed oh-so acceptable to say; "What's so good about Gabby, huh?"

Illya's ever present frown returned. "What?"

"Why's she so amazing?" grumbled Napoleon.

Illya didn't answer. Instead, he could only worry that maybe he'd come too late. Maybe Rudi had done more things to Napoleon; stuck a needle in him and screwed his brain up forever. Oh God, what had they done?!

"It's not like she can open vaults on one look..." stated Napoleon, all matter of factly. "Or...or withstand over an hour's worth of electric shock..."

But who can do those things?  _Napoleon Solo_ , that's who.

"I think your punching below your weight," concluded Napoleon, his left leg wobbling and making him have to use Illya to lean on further; as though some deity had staged this purposefully to make Napoleon's plea more obvious.  _Bloody hell, the only way you could be more obvious is if you just shouted at him 'why won't you date me?!'_  Napoleon's more logical thoughts declared.

Unfortunately, his illogical queries had control over his body.

"Well, uh..." trailed Illya. "That's...good, I guess."

_Fuck. This isn't going to work. Alright, new plan; why don't you just explain how you feel, right? If he's not interested (very likely), then you can blame your apparent brain damage later on. If he's interested (highly unlikely) then, well, case closed. Maybe you'll get up to all sorts la- Okay, your over thinking Solo. Focus on what's important, okay? You really wouldn't want to mess this up..._

Napoleon straightened his body out, managing to stand on his own two feet; imaging heavy music kicking in at the sheer courage and strength it took to stand.

_...because you have one chance, and if you cock this up, then your basically screwed..._

He rested his hands on Illya's shoulders. "Illya, listen..."

_Please remember that this guy is prone to psychotic episodes...okay? Okay._

Before Illya could answer or argue, Napoleon grabbed the sides of his head and pulled him down; kissing Illya bang on the lips.

_Shit!_

One could argue that the American spy's night hadn't exactly gone too well, so the least Illya could do was take this well...and...he kind of did. Sure, the Russian spy seemed more than uncomfortable with the whole scenario; his eyes wide and his frown trying to form on his face.  _Well, the electric chair is suddenly looking rather nice,_  thought Napoleon, his illogical thinking finally taking over and swamping the muddle in his mind before.

Finally, Napoleon pulled away, not looking at Illya. "Yeah, my brain's a bit muddled...probably should sit down..."

\------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, guess we're all stuck with each other," grumbled Napoleon, leaning on the fence of the terrace, looking over the city.

 

Illya was stood to one side, while Gabby took up the other. The disc had finally stopped burning, now a melted mess on the nice table behind them. Waverly had wandered off, back into the hotel; mentioning that he needed to retrieve their new mission, in Istanbul, documents as the U.N.C.L.E. trio. 

Illya finally spoked up. "Lucky us."

"Lucky?" frowned Napoleon, looking over at Illya. "Thought you were sick up me?"

"Well," grinned Illya. "Without me, what would you do?"

Napoleon returned the grin, the pair staring at each other.

"What?" called out Gabby, frowning at the duo. "Am I missing something?"

Illya leaned round on the wall, looking at Gabby. "Keep an eye on him, Gabby. The cowboy might kiss me again."

Napoleon dropped his grin, frowning out into the city. " _Shut up_."

 

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Sorry for the repeat, guys...didn't intend to do it, nor did I realize I'd done it at ll. Thanks for pointing it out -u-''
> 
> This is why I shouldn't write fanfiction at 9:00pm.
> 
> Still, I adore this movie (and this ship), so it seems fitting to write a lil'something for this.  
> Also, I think my writing shows how frightfully British I am :)


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